


Many Happy Returns

by aleida (Ali_Latis)



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Communication, Established Relationship, M/M, post-trk, seriously this is just them talking to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 17:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ali_Latis/pseuds/aleida
Summary: “Want do you want for your birthday?”Adam blinks and lifts his head from the sweet-smelling grass. It’s full summer, and he’s laying on his back in the south hayfield with Ronan sitting beside him, chewing on the end of an alfalfa stalk. Ronan moves the stalk to the corner of his mouth with a curl of his tongue.“Your birthday’s next week, asshole,” he says. “I’m asking what you want.”“Nothing.”It’s a lie. At least the part about wanting. Adam Parrish is very familiar with the concept of want.“I don’t want you to buy me anything.”“What if I want to get you something?” Ronan says lazily, like he’s purposefully pushing Adam’s buttons like he does sometimes. “That’s what assholes like us do for birthdays and shit.”“There are no assholes like you, Lynch,” says Adam. “You are unique among assholes.”





	Many Happy Returns

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post this for Adam Parrish's birthday, but then found out that the date of Adam's birthday is canonically a little vague.
> 
> Whatever. I have a lot of feelings about Adam Parrish, okay!

“Want do you want for your birthday?”

Adam blinks and lifts his head from the sweet-smelling grass. It’s full summer, and he’s laying on his back in the south hayfield with Ronan sitting beside him, chewing on the end of an alfalfa stalk.

“What?” Adam mutters. He’s not thinking of his birthday. He’s never really thought of his birthday. And the day is pleasantly warm and lazy. Adam doesn’t have to work until tomorrow. Opal is playing somewhere — she comes back with interesting things sometimes that she doesn’t even want to put in her mouth. And Ronan is sitting in the field and watching his dream creatures come and graze like he’s not worried at all about the harvest. 

Ronan is a very particular kind of farmer.

Ronan moves the alfalfa stalk to the corner of his mouth with a curl of his tongue.

“Your birthday’s next week, asshole,” he says. “I’m asking what you want.”

“Nothing.”

It’s a lie. At least the part about wanting. Adam Parrish is very familiar with the concept of  _ want _ .

“I don’t want you to buy me anything.” That’s more true. Adam has gotten better at this being-in-a-relationship thing. He’s learned how to touch and how to be touched. How to savor the feel of another human being who  _ wants  _ to be close to him. How to be known.

But Adam still has hang ups about things. He’s aware of said hang ups, and he had known they would be present in any relationship he has with Ronan. His issues with things and gifts, though, had seemed like less of a big deal when compared to the ever-present danger of dream-things and demons, and then the danger of not-dreaming. Honestly, the concept of gifts hasn’t really come up yet for them.

“What if I want to get you something?” Ronan says lazily, like he’s purposefully pushing Adam’s buttons like he does sometimes. “That’s what assholes like us do for birthdays and shit.”

“There are no assholes like you, Lynch,” says Adam. “You are unique among assholes.”

Ronan beams at that, and his smile makes Adam’s chest expand too much for a lazy day, for lying down in the summer grass. He has to sit up.

“Seriously, Lynch, if you buy me a new car, I’ll drive the shitbox right into the ground and start walking after that.”

He’s only half-joking. Adam can already feel his stomach twisting into an anxious knot at the thought of coming home to see some car, shiny and new, that he would be expected to use without thinking of loans and interest rates and down payments.

“Fine, no cars,” Ronan says easily. “I’ll buy your school supplies. Brand new notebooks and pencils—”

“Don’t.”

Adam stands, the easy feeling escaping him like the beads of sweat rolling down his back. His voice is snappish, and he can’t look at Ronan now. 

“Don’t have to get pissy about being a nerd,” says Ronan from behind Adam’s back. He sounds like he swallowed the alfalfa that was in between his teeth.

Adam breathes in, holds it, lets it go.

“I don’t want you to buy me anything,” he says as he stares down at the hay flattened into the ground under his feet. “It’s a stupid birthday, Lynch. It doesn’t matter.”

He feels enough like he’s telling the truth that he can look back at Ronan now. Ronan’s sitting up with his arms braced on his knees. His mouth is empty and twisted into something a little too angry to be a smile.

“Yeah, but now you’re eighteen,” Ronan says. “You can do all sorts of shit. Like buy cigarettes.”

Adam rolls his eyes and sinks back down into the hayfield.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Wanna try?” Ronan’s smile turns sharper, full of teeth. Adam scoffs.

“Yeah, I want an expensive vice that’ll just kill me quicker.”

“Fucking ray of sunshine,” Ronan mutters. He rolls his body over across the hay until he can press his head against Adam’s arm, like a baby goat. “All right. No smokes.” 

Ronan pulls his head back and butts the top of his head against Adam twice, keeping his hands clasped loosely in his lap. Adam gives in and runs his palm across Ronan’s head, his hand coming to rest around the curve at the base of his skull like the bones fit perfectly in the cup of Adam’s palm. He can feel Ronan’s shoulders melt down his spine, and Adam’s hand inherits the task of holding up his head. 

“What do you want, then?” Ronan asks, his voice syrupy and lazy. “It’s your birthday. You get to be a year older because you were born the hottest month of the year. Congratulations.” He drawls out  _ congratulations _ like he means  _ dumbass _ .

“Yeah, be glad my dad ever squirted me into—”

Adam freezes when Ronan’s head jerks out of its comfy spot, fitted into the curve of Adam’s palm.

“What.” Ronan says. Doesn’t ask.

Adam flushes, only just realizing what he said, had been about to say.

“Nothing,” he mutters, leaning forward to escape Ronan staring at the side of his face.

“Parrish.” Ronan shuffles closer and presses his head into Adam’s shoulder. His lips skim over Adam’s skin, warm and damp.

“Was something he used to say,” Adam says to his hands.

“To you?”

Quickly, Adam shakes his head, careful not to dislodge Ronan.

“My mom,” he says. “But it wasn’t like he didn’t want me hearing.” He swallows back his accent, breathes in. He can smell the sharpness of the alfalfa, but also Ronan’s sweat-and-warm-cotton scent. Adam braces himself better and leans into Ronan so that Ronan’s face slips up his shoulder and lands cradled in Adam’s neck. 

This is not about Adam’s dad. Adam hasn’t had birthday gifts since he was a kid, and he hasn’t celebrated his birthday for that long or longer. But it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t like fighting with Ronan. He’s not fighting with Ronan. It  _ doesn’t  _ matter.

“Birthdays aren’t a big deal, Lynch,” Adam says. He can feel Ronan’s breath, in and out, steady against his neck. “Really. You get older and you have to do more stuff to live, and that’s it.”

He shrugs, and Ronan slips off of his shoulder and stares at Adam

“Hey.” Ronan waits until Adam looks at him cautiously. “I happen to be glad you were born.”

Adam rolls his eyes fondly because this is what Ronan does. Tells truths about Adam and how much he loves Adam, and Adam isn’t used to that from anyone.

“Adam,” Ronan says, insistently. “I’m glad you’re here. Opal’s damn glad you’re here, otherwise she’d have to put up with me by herself. We’d probably both kill each other before summer’s out.” Ronan leans his head in towards Adam’s good ear. “Do you think any of us would’ve survived Cabeswater without you?”

Adam flushes and ducks his head. He doesn’t want to imagine the end of Cabeswater any differently than how it happened. There are too many scenarios where it could’ve gone worse.

“So trust me,” says Ronan, pressing his forehead to Adam’s temple.

“I still don’t want anything for my birthday,” says Adam. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“My birthday was ages ago, Parrish,” Ronan scoffs. “I’m not keeping track.”

“I am.” He has to. He hasn’t learned how  _ not _ to keep track yet. 

Ronan pulls his head away with one decisive nod.

“Okay. How about a drive?” he asks. Adam looks at Ronan, at his wide eyes, carefully nonchalant. 

“We’ll get the witches to watch Opal,” says Ronan. “Make sure she doesn’t swallow anything deadly. And we’ll go up the mountain road in the Beemer. I’ll even let you drive back.” He runs his hand up Adam’s curved back and lands on the back of his neck. Adam tilts his head back to press himself into Ronan’s warm hand.

“Can’t drive stick,” he murmurs. He means  _ thank you _ .

“So, I’ll teach you,” Ronan whispers back. He means  _ I love you _ .

“Yeah,” Adam says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”


End file.
